


My Broken Boy

by fangi



Series: Bad, Broken, Bruising [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Demons, Angst, Demon!Dan, Demons, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6173824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangi/pseuds/fangi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And the lock clicks and the breeze blows the door open and from somewhere inside the house he hears, “Your wish is my command.” And it’s that voice, that voice and Phil storms into the house and finds him there, just fucking sitting there and he is so angry so so angry fuck fuck fuck<br/>And Phil is in his face and he says, “I want my soul back.”<br/>Dan brushes Phil’s hand from the neck of his shirt and says, “No.”"</p><p>Phil found happiness. He lost that happiness. He sells his soul to get it back again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Broken Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a little older, but. Here ya go.
> 
> Read it on Tumblr: http://fangi-thoughts.tumblr.com/post/63380322377/my-broken-boy

 

_Tuesday, November 29 th, 2011_

ne Phillip Lester and his girlfriend,  
ar accident due to mechanical  
e is currently in emergency care  
ctors don’t think she will survive  
will be no charges.

.

There’s a house on the corner of Broad and Cheshire that has gothic-style windows and pillars on the front porch. There are weeping willows in the front yard and rod iron gates that twist into swirling shapes surrounding the perimeter, and the hinges creak loudly when the gates are opened. Everything around the house seems duller, darker, and even the grass is a pastel shade of green, and the sky seems to always be gray there, even when the England rain has cleared away.

No one alive has ever seen inside.

Except for him, of course.

Phil Lester has been here once before, listened to those very same gates creak and thudded down the same cobblestone driveway and stood on this very same porch, but on that day it was storming and he was soaked and desperate.

Today he is also desperate, but considerably more well-read, and leagues less suicidal.

Phil’s knock is confident even though he keeps curling his toes in his shoes and grinding his teeth.

There is a moment of silence, but there is nothing, and the door isn’t opening, and so he says, “Open the fucking door, Dan.”

And the lock clicks and the breeze blows the door open and from somewhere inside the house he hears, “Your wish is my command.” And it’s that voice, _that_ voice and Phil storms into the house and finds _him_ there, just fucking _sitting there_ and he is so angry so so angry fuck fuck _fuck_

And Phil is in his face and he says, “I want my soul back.”

Dan brushes Phil’s hand from the neck of his shirt and says, “No.”

Phil is pushed back and his anger in his throat. “Why not?”

There’s a smirk on Dan’s face. “Why should I?”

And he’s mocking Phil, Phil knows that, but the ploy works because he’s still pissed and everything is unfair and _damn it all_

“Because you didn’t keep up your end of the deal.”

“Didn’t I, though? Didn’t I mend up the love of your life, save her, even? All per your request?”

“Yes, but—”

“But just because she decided to blame you for the accident and hate your guts, you think you get to revoke your application? Sorry, it doesn’t work that way, love.”

And Dan’s eyes are black, and they’re staring right into Phil where his soul should’ve been. And Phil should be afraid, but he isn’t.

So maybe he is still feeling a little suicidal. Doesn’t matter anyway, almost everything is muted, dull now, just like this damn house. (Everything except random bursts, he feels things sometimes in sharp, painful hits of emotion and then suddenly it’s all gone and it’s the emptiness that’s killing him)

“This isn’t the way this was supposed to happen.”

“Poor little Philly, made a deal with the devil and it went _sour_. Sold his soul for a woman who doesn’t even love him anymore, blames him for something that wasn’t his fault, and now he’s soulless and he’s got no one to fuck. Sad, sad story.”

Phil tries to move forward again but finds that he can’t, and suddenly Dan is right in his face and breathing his air and there are rough lips on the shell of Phil’s ear and his entire body shivers.

“You know, Phillip, I think we both know this was a stupid, stupid idea.”

He can’t move, he’s barely breathing and he’s pinned against a wall he doesn’t even know is that close until it’s too late and

“I also think we both know that you’ve done your research, too, and you know what happens to souls when you give them away. And that if all souls tasted as good as your’s did, I’d probably hunt a little more.”

He wants to struggle but his body won’t respond and his eyes are now connected with two black abysses he doesn’t want to get lost in and he can feel blood running down his ear from Dan’s teeth and

“So tell me, my broken boy,” Dan’s breath is hot against his skin. “Why are you here?”

And it’s in that moment, that Phil wakes up.

He jerks, his eyes flying open, hands gripping at the sheets, and breathes.

He hasn’t thought that far back in a long, long while.

He runs his fingers across the black silk he’s lying in and blows his fringe out of his eyes, idly glancing out the window at the graying sky. _I wonder if it might rain soon._

It’s days like these that he remembers a warm bowl of soup in his hands, even warmer smiles, tangled legs, and then it’s gone. He doesn’t even want to remember her or feelings or anything and it’s raining outside, now. He pushes his face into the pillows and looks back out the window, traces the intricate iron that surrounds the glass panes with his eyes, and lets out a sigh from somewhere deep inside him.

Outside down below, gate hinges creak and iron clangs. Drooping trees bend under the force of the rain.

There are no footsteps on the stairs but Phil can imagine them, can clearly outline the figure waltzing up them, and he hears the door open but he doesn’t have to turn to know who it is or where they are and then there is a set of arms around his waist and everything about this is just _wrong_.

It’s so wrong, but there he is, leaning back against a warm chest without a care in the world.

And Dan leans over Phil’s shoulder and says, “Good morning.”

And Phil says, “Is it?”

And Dan’s answer is, “Probably.”

Phil knows Dan doesn’t actually care, and Dan knows Phil doesn’t actually want to be here, but Dan _doesn’t care_ and Phil can’t feel anything, anyway.

Dan tells him that the girl’s soul tasted like ash today, like they always do, ever since him.

Phil just shakes his head.

“You’ve ruined me.”

“You say that like you weren’t messed up to begin with.”

It’s sounds like banter but it isn’t, it’s _not even close_ and Dan is a monster and Phil is a shell and it isn’t like the outside world cares but it’s so messed up so so wrong so _ugly_ but there they are, and it’s still happening, every single day for three years now.

Phil could leave.

He could get out and try to live his life the best he could and probably die alone but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t.

He stays.

And he’s not really sure why, but now-a-days he can’t think about doing anything else.

.

_“So tell me, my broken boy. Why are you here?”_

_“You’ve got my soul, somewhere inside you. Or maybe it’s being away. Or maybe it’s just you, but I feel a little less empty right now.”_

_And Dan just smirks._

.

.

 


End file.
